by Reid, Stacy
He smiled. Oh! The man was handsome. “Yet you are dancing with me. I thank you then, for placing your honor so close to me.”
He spun her around in a graceful twirl, tugging her almost too close.
“Tell me, Your Grace, have you found your lover?”
His words tore gaping holes in the thin facade of her composure. He had overheard most, if not all, of the conversation with her brother in the gardens. She struggled for equanimity. “That is not your concern, Mr. Tremayne.”
He swung her in a wide, swooping circle. “I find that I have a desire to make a conquest of your lips. I was trying to ascertain your reception to such an advance from a man like myself.”
She could only stare at him as a myriad of emotions coursed through her bosom. “Any such advances would be most assuredly rebuffed,” she said faintly, shocked by the blast of need his words elicited. She quite liked the idea of Mr. Tremayne wanting to kiss her, but her thoughts reeled under the impact of such an acknowledgment.
His eyes gleamed with provoking amusement, but he made no reply.
A curious regret filled her heart when the waltz ended and he escorted her to the side of the ballroom and without further ado disappeared. It wasn’t too long before other gentlemen approached her, claiming dance after dance. Having danced with Rhys Tremayne, she had to socialize and accept their invitations. She swore she could feel the eyes of Mr. Tremayne upon her, but could see him nowhere.
I have a desire to make a conquest of your lips.
His words would now remain interred in the back of her mind.
“I would never grant a man such as Mr. Tremayne intimacy,” she said softly, yet her vow sounded hollow and without substance.
A few minutes after the clock struck midnight, she bid her mother, Daphne, and Lady Mansfield good night.
“My dear, the ball has barely started. Surely you are not already departing?” her mother scolded.
“I fear I must. I am exhausted.” In truth, she was frightfully bored, frustrated by the constant beat of emptiness in her heart, and alarmed by her attraction to Mr. Tremayne. Turning her regard to Daphne, she said, “I miss Nicolas desperately, and I depart for Kent tomorrow. I need my rest before the journey.”
“Of course,” Daphne replied. “I do hope I’ll see you in town for Lady Beauchamp’s soiree next week. It promises to be a marvelous experience.”
After promising to return to town for the soiree, Georgiana hastily departed the ballroom. The hallway leading to the cloakroom was blessedly empty. She would have her carriage summoned and once she reached home, perhaps spend a few hours reading before retiring to bed.
“We did not get an opportunity to fully converse,” a voice drawled, tugging her gaze to the shadowed area of the foyer.
“Mr. Tremayne, I presume?” Though she was quite aware it was he, it would not do to admit she had so easily recognized his voice.
His chuckle was low and amused. “You presume correctly, Your Grace.”
It hovered on her tongue to grant him the privilege of calling her Georgiana. However, that might prove an intimacy she was not ready for. That would be an invitation of sorts to move their unorthodox relationship into the realms of her fevered and scandalous thoughts about this man.
He pushed away from the wall, a languid, graceful move. “Would you take a brandy with me in the library?”
Outrageous. The refusal poised on her tongue. Suddenly a spirit of rebellion sparked inside her. Georgiana wanted to break free of all social restraints, and the ones she had placed on her own rule of conduct…just for a few minutes. Perhaps it would banish the melancholia she could feel piercing her heart. “I believe I will.”
She felt his start of surprise. Clearly, he had not expected her agreement. “It seems I surprise you, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Pleasantly so, I assure you, duchess.” He stepped from the shadows and waved his hand for her to precede him. The hallway was thankfully empty, and she swept past him. Shameless behavior, of course, but she was not a debutante who needed protection from what happened behind closed library doors or in dark corners of gardens. It was as if she precariously walked the fine edge of something darkly delicious. She knew nothing good could come of a closer acquaintance with him, but for the moment she banished the thought.
She felt too vibrantly alive.
They entered the library, her heart doing strange things inside her chest when he closed the door with a soft snick. There was a fire burning low in the grate, and the library was cast in more shadow than light. After pouring what appeared to be brandy in two glasses, he prowled over and offered one to her.
“Thank you.”
There really ought to be more space between them. The fall of the skirts of her gown brushed against his leg. They stood like that, sipping their drinks, and she almost giggled at how odd it all seemed. Finally, his lips curved into a smile as if he picked up on her amusement and how ridiculous it was that they were standing in the center of the room, standing so inappropriately close, sipping brandies, and simply staring at each other.
“You have an inviting mouth.”
Incredibly, a smile tugged at her lips before she could stifle it. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that particular compliment before.”
His gaze dropped to her lips for an infinite number of seconds. With a grimace, he stepped back and downed the content of his glass in one swallow. “I’m beginning to think this impulsive tête-à-tête was foolhardy.”
“And why is that, Mr. Tremayne?” she asked, absurdly pleased with her nonchalance.
“Because I want to taste you quite desperately, and I am not the desperate sort.”
Arousal shivered through her with surprising intensity. A kiss. So simple but so frightfully complicated because he was the wrong man. It’s just a kiss, Georgiana. The notion was mad. It was fanciful, and unbearably tempting.
“I see,” she said softly, unsure if he attempted to kiss her whether she would stop him. Georgiana waited, feeling a bit silly when he did nothing. There was a cool smile to his lips, almost mocking in its effect, and she narrowed her eyes. She had the uncomfortable impression that he knew precisely what she was thinking.
“I believe it is time for me to be alone, Mr. Tremayne,” she said and strolled to the windows and pulled the drapes open wider. The sky glowed with stars, and she glided a fingertip across the cool glass pane. How she wished to be outside, lying on the freshly mown grass, staring into the beautiful abyss. Or…how she wished he had been improper and kissed her. Or perhaps she should have offered her lips to him.
It took a few seconds for her to realize she’d not heard the close of the library door signaling his departure. Before she could turn, she sensed that he’d moved nearer. A peculiar longing seized Georgiana, and she stilled. Then she felt him, at once a comforting heat but an intimidating presence. If she were to lean back only an inch, surely her back would be flush along his chest.
He did not speak, and she accepted the silence that wrapped itself around them.
“I’m going to touch you.” It was a statement of intent, yet he seemingly waited for her permission.
Temptation was tugging at her with relentless force. Several beats had passed before the word was dragged from her throat. “Yes.”
She slammed her eyes shut, as he slowly skimmed one of his hands along her hip, around to her stomach, where he allowed the flat of his palm to rest comfortably on her lower stomach, right above the aching surge of need that burned through her body.
I’m not cold… Her every expectation was shattered by the simple touch, and her breathing fractured. Georgiana felt an odd sense of shock. Her breasts were swollen, the tips sensitive. There was a strange ache between her thighs.
It had been so long since she had felt physical pleasure.
The noises of the ball did not penetrate as more than a dull buzz from outside, rendering the library a cocoon. They did not speak, and she continued staring into the matchless beauty of t
he night sky. Yet it was impossible to remove her thoughts from his far-too-intimate touch, one she was afraid of, but hungered for.
Something was happening, what she did not know, but every instinct in her screamed of its danger. Helplessly, as if she was commanded by an unseen force, she leaned back ever so slightly and was rewarded by sheer muscular hardness and a soft groan of pleasure.
With torturous movements, the hand resting on her stomach drifted down…dear Lord. Her heart started to pound a furious beat. Her knees almost buckled when he cupped her sex through the gown, and despite the layers of clothing between her intimate valley and his hand, she felt seared with a bewildering pleasure.
“I cannot help feeling as if I am standing atop a cliff and about to dive off into some fucking-terrifying uncharted waters,” he said, his deep, dark drawl roughened.
Despite his shocking profanity, that unexpected admission had warmth unfurling inside her heart. Then there was that sweet and unfamiliar throb low where his hand rested. Step away, the sane part of her urged. While her intelligence knew he was the wrong man to take as a lover, the hunger he had awakened had a stronger hold. Georgiana remained mute, unable to voice the need and trepidation warring in her heart.
“I’m not a gentleman,” he said softly.
Her body felt flushed and unfamiliar. “I didn’t think you were,” she whispered. There was nothing gentle about his raw and compelling masculinity.
“When I take a woman, it isn’t a few moments in the dark under the covers.”
There are other ways? She remained silent, lest she betrayed her ignorance.
“In my bed, you won’t be a duchess, proper and aloof, nor will there be that emptiness I see in your eyes.”
His assurance was so shattering and provocative she flushed. She could well imagine him laying her on a bed, his powerful body covering hers, pressing her into the mattress, heavy and demanding as he settled himself between her thighs. “Strange…I do not recall a promise of coming to your bed.” She was inordinately pleased with how steady and unaffected her voice was.
She felt his smile against her hair. Then the hand cupping her throbbing heat slowly shifted up, forcing her to bite her lower lip hard to prevent a moan of protest from slipping out. And he once again allowed it to rest against her lower stomach.
“The attraction I feel for you I’ve never endured for another.” He sounded perplexed and even angry at the notion.
“I’m not pleased with my desire for you, either, Mr. Tremayne.”
“We are going to be lovers.” Dark possessiveness rang in his tone, and a thrill burst in her heart despite his shocking arrogance.
To be touched without any expectations because of her rank, to be seduced and adored because of her, and not her privilege, was vastly appealing…and quite naive. “I believe you have a long wait ahead of you, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Rhys.”
The cool command filled her with a darker rush of bewildering ache.
Against her lower back, she could feel the hard, intimate proof of his arousal. The tip of his fingers felt rough as they trailed over the bare skin of her shoulders in a fleeting caress. The very idea of embarking on an affair with such a man left her feeling on edge and slightly breathless. It was irrational, illogical, yet she wanted to…with him. A man such as he would never presume to pressure her into marriage. He wouldn’t even ask. Paradoxically, he was a safe choice for a lover, and yet to embark on any affair with a man so below her in rank was inexcusably reckless, a potential scandal if they were ever found out.
She faced him. He held her gaze in the dark of the library, only the small sliver of moonlight illuminating his harsh but so very sensually appealing features.
“You want something from me. You are the man they call The Broker, and I have seen you in action. It does you no credit to pretend to be the charming scoundrel to gain my favor. I assure you, that is a wasted endeavor,” she enunciated each word with cutting precision. Yet the dratted man remained standing, not wincing or backing up. He was acting as if her words did not have the power to see him cut from all social events, that the loss of her favor wasn’t something to fear.
“I assure you, it isn’t a favor I want from you that prodded at me to seek you out, to dance with you, to speak with you, nor is it the reason I am standing here, my cock heavy with need, and the desire to kiss you a burning need in my gut that I fear will not be sated even if I get the privilege to taste you,” he growled with something akin to furious bewilderment.
The wretched, wretched man, she believed him.
“Am I the fool?” he asked gruffly. “Do you want my touch…my kiss, even if only for this night?”
However much she wanted to, she could not bring herself to lie. Those days when she pretended to be someone else were long gone, she hoped never to return. “Yes.”
His eyes darkened, and a flush worked itself along his cheekbone. He cupped her cheek, tipping her face up toward his. With brutal deliberateness, he kissed her slowly over and over until her lips parted and his tongue dipped inside. The subtle hint of brandy flavored his mouth, and his taste was dark, heady.
He pulled back slightly. His thumb stroked the delicate skin below her ear, and she trembled. “How wicked are you, duchess?”
Her heart stuttered. Never… She had never been wicked, or free, or this painfully alive. Unable to answer, she fastened her mouth to his. She became someone else in his arms as the trappings of her rank and responsibilities fell away, leaving the carnal woman behind. Their kiss became marvelously wild, and he delved deeper, stroked more firmly. The feel, the taste, the smell of him were like a drug. She craved so much more.
She made a small, strangled sound against his lips when he lifted and placed her on the large desk. Without releasing her lips, he nudged her legs wide and stepped between them, allowing her thighs to cradle him intimately.
Georgiana was helpless against the ravaging onslaught. The intensity of his embrace warned her he had no intention of making allowances for sensual inexperience. She moaned softly into his mouth, her tongue twining with his. A shiver worked through her when his thumb dragged along the inside of her thigh. He stroked her bare skin above her garter.
“Touch me,” she breathed out, breaking their kiss.
He understood, for the fingers that had been lingering with teasing strokes at the soft silk of her inner thighs moved with sure boldness upward, and a whimper broke from her throat as his fingers found her hot flesh.
Georgiana trembled in his arms, a need unlike she had ever known twisting in her stomach. His fingers teased at her entrance, and then she was suddenly full as he thrust two fingers deep into her. She bucked, sliding off the desk toward him, unintentionally impaling herself farther. A whimper caught in her throat as a bewildering mix of pain and pleasure twisted through her.
A sensual grimace twisted across his face. “You’re so wet…and tight,” he muttered.
Arrows of exquisite sensation shot through her. She clasped his shoulders, unable to tear herself from his all-too-magnetic gaze as he created havoc within her body with his wicked fingers. Their breaths panted in the library, each hiss escaping her mouth and flowing into his because their lips were a scant inch apart. Sensations peaked in her belly, hot and terrible as he worked her with his fingers. And dear Lord, that was what he did. He was not delicate, nor was he gentle, and she didn’t want tender. Each plunge felt rougher, more carnal, more wickedly forceful, and somehow, she wasn’t pushing him away in affront. Instead, she felt enslaved by the chaotic and unknown hunger spiking in her belly, responding with wanton delight when he stepped in closer, using his powerful thighs to widen her legs more…and oh…oh…worked his fingers with more depth. His thumb rested on her nub, and she so desperately wanted to feel him glide against it. Instead, his thumb stayed still, a pressure that promised more to come.
A groan tore from her throat as with a jerk of her hips, his thumb slid roughly against her. It was as if lightning sp
eared through her body. Her lids fluttered, her lips parted wider as she panted.
“Do not look away from me.”
His order was rough and carnal, and heaven help her, she responded helplessly. The hand that had been gripping her nape thrust into her hair, holding her even more secure. In his eyes, she spied a lust so strong she distantly wondered if he would ravish her on the desk before the night was out.
“Do not look away,” he gritted out, a flush working itself over his harsh cheekbones. “I want to see these beautiful eyes when you break.”
Break? She lost all train of thought when he started to stroke along her clitoris in time with his thrusts. The pleasure was acute, sharp and jarring. A third finger joined the others stretching her in a manner she had never experienced before. She moaned, long, deep, throaty at the erotic bite of pain twining with the ecstasy.
Her hips arched more to his diabolical fingers.
He jerked her even closer, more upright, so she was perched on the tips of her toes as she strained to clasp his neck. “That’s it,” he murmured roughly. “Unravel for me.”
Ripples of pleasure began to build as he awakened something primal and wicked within her. She felt out of control, and it scared her. “Oh, please, please,” she gasped, unsure of what she hungered for so desperately. Georgiana sobbed, she trembled, she all but tried to climb his body, as everything inside of her collapsed and the sensations gathering between her legs increased. They peaked, and the tight coil in her stomach snapped, a burst of intense pleasure she had never known crashing over her senses and drowning her.
His arms tightened around her. Her forehead was resting against his chest, and his heart pounded fiercely. He withdrew his fingers from the aching depth of her body. She blushed when a handkerchief seemed to materialize, and he cleaned her before lowering the skirt of her ball gown, which had ridden high on her thighs.
Steadying herself, and willing herself to no longer blush, she allowed her eyes to meet his.
